A Little too Not Over You
by SilverMafia
Summary: Now though, he sat alone, the sketch still clutched tightly in his hands. The pencil scratches weren't as dark as they were once. It looked faded. It must have been because he drew that picture years ago... when she was still his. He was frustrated beyond all reason for comprehension. He had given her his love unconditionally, and this was what she left him instead. How could she?


**A/N: Another KadajxOC fic. I felt really inspired with David Archuleta's song and then this idea came to my mind. I've resolved to write it, and as always, it is Kadaj-centric even if I didn't mention his name here. I also don't have a name for the girl. But anyways, you cane read it if you wish. Isn't that why I posted it here?**

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He closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree. The air was cool today, and it ruffled his hair with enthusiasm. The silver-haired boy sighed contentedly and let his eyes slip closed. There was something about today, and whatever that something was, it was making him feel good.

There were so many things to see; much more than his genetic-enhanced eyes could take. The scenery was beautiful, and he just didn't know where to start. Opening his eyes, he frowned slightly upon seeing the crease that had marred one of the pages of his sketchbook. Ever so gently, he smoothed the crease with his thumb, leaving behind a smudge of charcoal from the pencil.

From a distance, he could see her. She was gathering some flowers on the far edge of the meadow where the colorful ones were always were. And he knew how much she loved that hobby. She would arrange them in different assortments and make a necklace out of them. She had always loved flowers ever since she was a little girl-that he knew. He always got her a fresh bouquet during her birthdays, and would grin inwardly whenever her face lit up, adorning her face with an adorable smile. The one he couldn't possibly resist.

The memories made him nostalgic for the time being, and he snapped his attention back to the empty black smudged page. He could hear her humming as she settled on the grass, cross-legged, and her fingers began those intricate and complicated movements of forming a necklace out of thin fragile flower stems. He had always marveled how her fingers would expertly work their way to every nook and cranny. She knew exactly where to fit one piece and which would go with which. He knew it was an art to her, and he honestly appreciated her workmanship.

His hands began the usual way of forming a first layer sketch. Delicate and smooth dark lines increased with every stroke on the paper's surface as the silver-haired teen worked on his latest masterpiece: her. He had never tried drawing her; not once; not even from a photograph. His hand strokes gained speed as they sketched more complicated lines that would form the guidelines for drawing her facial features.

In completing the outline of the contours of her body at work, he began working on the landscape surrounding her-as much as sketched nature could occupy the single page. He worked fast, but sure. His hand had already sketched the outlines and every detail, every light and dark area of the trees as her background. Even the bright green grass was accurately drawn, and the flowers too. It helped to have eyes with ultra focus. He could see every tiny detail available.

At last, he had moved on to the girl. Glancing up to catch a glimpse of detail, he began working once more.

His strokes became furious once more as they smudged the shady area of her black and blue dress. He slowly drew her hands creating a work of art-the flower stem poised carefully between her fingertips. He began working on her hair strands where the dark roots met the light tips.

Moments of labored concentration were worth it. He had completed the rest of her. The only thing left to do was her face. The boy looked up and caught her face with a look of deep concentration where her eyes would extremely focus, her facial muscles were relaxed, and her bottom lip slightly jutted out forming one cute pout.

He bit his lip to keep from chuckling to himself. He remembered exactly how she reacted the first time he kissed her. He knew exactly how those lips felt pressed against his; gentle, and soft, and inviting. Breaking his trance, he returned to his sketch once more. He began drawing her facial features accurately. Now all that was left were more accurate details to deal with...

She watched him complete his sketch. She watched as his pale hands gripped the pencil and formed the supple curves of her neck where she was hunched over working on a necklace. She had finished a few moments short and came over to him to show him her work, only to see that he was drawing her working. She thought it rather sweet, and was deeply entranced with how his hand sketched dark curvy lines to form every inch of detail. She could easily tell he was concentrating too much to even notice her. And so she watched quietly as he finished his masterpiece...

He was almost done. Ever so gently, he smudged her perfect bottom lip, finally completing the wonderful sketch. His eyes narrowed in observation as he silently admired his work. It was pretty good. What would she think?

He looked up to see the spot where she once had been empty. Only the flowers were left swaying in the gentle breeze. Had he been that focused that he didn't even hear her move?

"It's beautiful..." His head snapped to her direction as she settled herself next to him.

"It is?" He inquired innocently, holding the masterpiece out at arm's length.

"You drew me perfectly. H-How do you do it?" She asked, her eyes shining with sheer unkempt curiosity.

He met her blue stare as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Practice," he wrapped his fingers around her chin. "Lots. And lots. Of practice." He smiled and subtly kissed her forehead.

He knew she was blushing, and he had always liked that shade of red that tinted her cheeks whenever he was close to her like this. He smiled at her, and she held up the newly formed flower necklace she had made.

"What do you think?" She asked, holding up the object for him to see.

"It's beautiful. It always is. May I?" He inquired, reaching for the necklace.

She handed it to him with an assuring nod, and he swiftly moved behind her and placed the necklace around her neck. It looked good on her; complemented her skin completely. He thought about all those things as he fingered the necklace nestled near her collarbone. He watched as goose bumps rose on the flesh at the feel of his warm fingers tracing her neck.

"Can I see your sketch again?"

Wordlessly, he handed her the sketchbook. She took it with careful precision, making sure her fingers didn't smudge any charcoal surface that might ruin the beautiful sketch.

"E-Everything... I-It's all in perfect detail. Even if you say it's all practice, any eye that isn't blind can still see that ninety-five percent of this is raw talent."

"You really think so?" He inquired, his face buried in her hair.

"You're so...talented." It was all she could say. And the very thought of him drawing her so effortlessly made her want to tear up.

"So are you," he whispered. "No one could make a necklace this simple yet so complementary...and wonderful." He commented, fingering the necklace that was now strewn around her neck. "It always amazes me...how you even manage to know all those certain places where one stem fits the other. It's so...confusing."

"A trained eye is able to see where one doesn't," she whispered. "It takes practice... lots and lots of practice." He smirked at her imitation of his earlier quote. "It also involves passion...in your work."

She craned her neck to face him only to have him press his lips to hers in a tender and chaste kiss. She turned to him, wrapping both of her arms around his neck as he wrapped his arms around her waist, his fingers following the rose pattern on the side of her dress.

Having her was all he could ever ask for. She understood him like no one else ever could. And since the day they met, he had always felt that strange unexplainable bond between them; a bond that wasn't easily broken by any overridden emotion.

[End of flashback]

Now though, he sat alone, the sketch still clutched tightly in his hands. The pencil scratches weren't as dark as they were once. It looked faded. It must have been because he drew that picture years ago... when she was still his.

He sat on the very same tree, on the very same spot where he drew her. He sat on the very same place where they had shared a kiss that was to be their last.

She was with someone else now. She found someone else and betrayed him. It was all unfair, but he had learned how to harden his heart to the point where no one could turn him back to the way he once had been.

He was frustrated beyond all reason for comprehension. He had given her his love unconditionally, and this was what she left him instead. How could she? Why would she?

He didn't understand, and he knew he'd never figure it out. Never.

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**A/N: Okay, it's done. Now tell me what you think.**


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